The Shower Scene
by Sephulbadis
Summary: It's hot. It's steamy. It's PG-13? You betcha. Full of grapefruit goodness and cheap humor at Otacon's expense. Will he drop the soap?


DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights—ANY rights—to any of the characters mentioned herein, or any dialogue or aspects of the storyline alluded to. If there are any other copyrighted items hiding behind the aforementioned copyrighted items, which I don't own, I don't own those either. Welcome to grapefruit #2.

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Ah, life was good sometimes. There was nothing like a hot shower after a fourteen-hour stint rummaging around in the startlingly intimate records of the military-industrial complex. It was times like this that Dr. Hal Emmerich, Ph.D, felt really _secure_ in his doctorate. Sure, his thesis hadn't touched on the hows and whys of endangering national security—it was on mechanics and integrated networks, after all—but if he hadn't picked up a few neat tricks along the way, he'd still be paying off his student loans. Yes, life was good. Piece by piece, his clothes formed a loose pile by the door and he stood in all his unadorned splendor in front of the shower. It surprised him just _how_ skinny his arm was, when he reached it out to crank the water on. There was no doubt about it that he really ought to eat more, but some things just kinda slipped the mind when the mind was busy with tactical nuclear weaponry.

It took some adjusting, but after a few second he had the water temperature just _so_. Nice and hot—infinitessimally shy of causing tissue damage. He stepped into the spray, mulling over a few details of shipping schedules and material invoices to a fiber-optic plant in Indonesia. He'd have to mention it to Snake later on, and see how a few key measurements were registering after a week or so, and then maybe see about a plane ticket. If everything lined up the way he was almost certain it would, he was glad Snake would be the one heading for southeast Asia. Near-scalding water sheeted down his back and steam began to give the air a milky look as he thanked his lucky stars. He just couldn't abide heat and humidity.

In short order the grimy feeling from sitting too long and suffering the occasional nervous sweat had been sluiced away. Where'd the shampoo gotten to? Without his glasses everything was a whitish blur. The dark blue blur half-obscured by his leg resolved itself into the appropriate bottle once he brought it up to close range. "For Permed and Colored Hair", it said. He felt like a bit of a wuss—like more of a wuss than he normally did, to be perfectly honest— for using the stuff, especially since it made him smell suspiciously like…what was it? Chamomile? Calendula? Something like that. Anything else turned his hair into straw. But there was really nothing for it, not if he wanted to stay a brunette, which considering all things was probably a good idea. Grey on a guy his age was too distinctive. And he did have to admit that it was kind of nice not being mistaken for somebody's grandfather from behind. He'd noticed his roots starting to show for a couple of days now, unfortunately. Time to get another box of dye and do what needed to be done. Thank god not _all_ of him had gone grey. He glanced downward. The idea of putting dye anywhere near _that_ scared the hell out of him. It stung!

His ears were full of fragrant suds a minute and a half later, his eyes closed against the possibility of a stray raft of foam, when the quality of the light filtered through his eyelids abruptly changed. He opened them. There was just enough time to register a large beige blur between him and pretty much everything before a treacherous mass of suds which had been loitering just below his hairline waiting for an opportunity took it, and luged vengefully down his forehead on a thin sheet of water. 

Several very immediate concerns all vied for his valuable processor cycles at the same time. Getting the blasted phenylalanine out of his eyes was first and foremost, of course, because without that concern addressed there wasn't much to be done about items two and three on his Pressing Issues list—to wit, finding out if the large beige blur was what he feared it was, and upon receipt of that information making an educated judgement as to whether it was possible to flee at once in dripping terror, or whether he would have to do further research as to the relative likelihoods of being shot, stabbed, strangled, or blown up and calibrate his reaction accordingly. After the instant it took for him to duly prioritize the matter at hand, he began to scrabble frantically at his eyes. The worst of the stinging muck was clear—and he still hadn't been horribly maimed, which was nice—when the blur spoke in a familiar voice, and Hal realized he'd have to do some very serious recalibration indeed.

"Where's the goddamned shampoo?"

Now that he could see again, mostly, he noticed a few things. The beige blur was topped by a vaguely mullet-shaped brown blur. For the first time in his life, Hal was fervently glad for being so nearsighted—there were absolutely no clothes-colored blurs on the interloping beige one, and it was blocking his way out of the normally one-man shower. There was just the one door. Said blur was in the way. There wasn't enough room to make a run around the side—in dripping terror, of course. This was bad. Bad in ways that he didn't really want to think about in any great detail. 

He looked down again. As a matter of reflex, he'd grabbed the closest thing to hand and hunched over defensively. The closest thing had been the shampoo. He couldn't really say he was surprised.

"What the hell-" there! He'd said it! "-are you doing in my shower? I mean, it's _my_ shower. As opposed to yours. Or anyone else's. Or something somewhere that people can just walk into and take a shower in, which this isn't." 

Mentally, he smacked his forehead. Conveying his heartfelt dismay at someone invading his bathroom was _vital_, and here he was, babbling on. There was just something about trying to explain things to people that turned him into a gibbering moron. Circuit diagrams, basic encryption structure, the Deep family's fish…it never came out right.

The blur—Snake, Hal made himself admit—grunted irritably. More reluctantly than he'd done anything in quite some time, he handed over the bottle. A mantra familiar to him from boyhood summers spent at one camp or another began to cycle in his head. "Nothing to get nervous about," it said. "We're all guys here. Stay calm." Somehow it didn't provide much comfort. He felt much better once he had the soap in hand. It didn't provide much coverage, but it was better than nothing. And he was _not_ going to drop it.

Snake spent a leisurely few minutes getting a good lather going.They were very, very long minutes to Hal, but there was only so long you could stay in stationary-panic mode and despite himself he found he was eventually able to relax somewhat. For the time being, Snake seemed utterly indifferent to his presence. The simple fact that he was there, in his shower, was so flagrantly impossible that he didn't bother to speculate on it. Snake in his shower was like a platypus…anywhere, really. In that precise way, for reasons beyond his understanding, it was just the way things were.

It made him thoughtful.

There was no reason to be nervous around Snake. Even if Snake had broken into his apartment, trespassed into his bathroom, and appropriated his shampoo. This was probably normal behavior for people like him. And they _were_ all guys here. Nothing new to see. Especially since all he could see was a blur with a few darker spots. He was not—_not_, he affirmed to himself—paying attention to details. 

It was kind of nice having Snake right there. Maybe not _right there_--but still! He felt safe. The soap still wasn't going anywhere, but apart from that one little detail he felt safe. Nobody was going to shoot at him or brandish swords or attempt to put electrodes anywhere on him with Snake around. The thought of it made a smile spread across his face. Security, that's what it was. It was…nice. He shifted his weight on the rough tile to let one shoulder catch just a little of the hot water. Now that he'd gotten over the suddenness of Snake's arrival, he really had to admit that he didn't mind at all. He could only guess as to why Snake had chosen to show up, but there were a few possibilities that jostled their way to the front of the crowd and clamored to be heard. Despite himself, and possibly due to the hot water, he felt a blush in his cheeks. The idea didn't bother him—which bothered him, slightly—but no, there wasn't the rush of revulsion or fear he half-expected. They were already as close as two people could be, and they depended on each other for a lot. Already Snake introduced him as his 'partner', and he'd seen a couple of raised eyebrows on that one. If Snake intended to make their relationship _official_, he wouldn't say no. 

But what ought he to say? Ought he to say anything? And what was he supposed to do with the soap, now so carefully clasped over his unmentionables? Setting it down would be tantamount to an _admission_ of some sort, wouldn't it? He still didn't want to drop it. Most of his brain maintained that he wasn't ready, and a tiny corner insisted that it would make him look cheap.

In the meantime, Snake had finished rinsing. What to do? God, what to _do_?

"Um," he ventured.

"Sorry," said the Snake-voice as the Snake-blur opened the door. "Ran out at my place."

The door shut again behind him, and Dr. Hal Emmerich, PhD was left alone again in the steam and spray.

The hot water began to run out. The soap, squashed by fervent clutching, started to dissolve in earnest. And there was only one towel out there, which Snake would beyond the shadow of a doubt leave damp and clammy.

"Why didn't you just _say_ something, damn it?"

"…you never asked."

"I never _asked_? I _distinctly_ remember asking! You were there!"

Silence. "Snake?"

He'd gone. That was the problem with trying to tell off a professional sneaky bastard. From now on, he was locking the door. 

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Thanks for reading, guys. This piece of pseudo-slash was created solely for your enjoyment, and I hope it served. See you next time!


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